Dragonelf and Friends (and Swords!): a Fantasy-Romance Saga, Part 1

"What? Speak up, boy!" the hairy old innkeeper growled.

"I'm Seamus," said the young elf, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening.

"Seamus what?"

The elf sighed. "Seamus Dragonelf."

"Seamus Dragonelf!" the innkeeper exclaimed, scribbling the name in the guest registry. "Why, if I didn't know better, I'da thought you was givin' me a phony name, boy. The last Dragonelf who stayed at this inn died three centuries ago. They say he was royalty. Aidan Dragonelf, he was called."

"Never heard of him," Seamus lied.

"Elves stay on the second floor. Third floor's reserved for knights and sorcerers, and wenches," the innkeeper said with a wink, handing Seamus a cold brass key. "Room 202."

"Thanks." Seamus tucked his long golden hair behind his pointy ears and ignored the stares of the ogres, trolls, munchkins, and barbarian women gnawing on turkey legs, drinking mead, and roasting hog snouts around the fire pit.

"He said his name's Dragonelf. I heard him!" a buxom barbarian woman cried, pointing a long, dirt-encrusted fingernail at Seamus, as he hurried up the stairs, his brown cashmere cloak billowing out behind him.

Seamus found his room and dashed inside, just as another barbarian woman screeched, "I saw him first!"

The maid wasn't finished making his bed. Seamus gave her a gold coin and begged her to leave.

"As you wish, sir," the maid said, giggling and curtseying. "I dated an elf once. It's true what they say," she added, giggling some more and pinching Seamus' rosy cheek. "I'm in room 305 if you need anything, sweetie."

"That's, uh, kind of you, miss. But all I want is a couple hours of shuteye. Can you put one of those 'Do Not Disturb' signs on my door when you leave?"

"You're adorable," the maid said. "If you don't want folks bothering you, keep the door locked. And cast a spell or two just to be safe." She winked, and wiggled her butt, which was cute enough to cast spells of its own, as she left Seamus' room.

Seamus was immune to spells cast by cute maids' butts, however. Dragonelf blood flowed through his veins. Aidan Dragonelf, the rightful king of Poshollow and the Talking Trees, was his father; Dreamweaver was his sword.

"Ooooooo-OOOOOOO! Dreeeeeeam weav-uh!" Seamus sang solemnly. He longed for his beloved sword the way a wizard longs for the touch of a gentlewoman-preferably a virgin dwarf princess from The Shadowy Caves of Motholomew.

Seamus drifted into a fitful sleep. Dreamweaver was trying to tell him something, trying to reveal her hiding place. "When the time is right, we shall be reunited," Dreamweaver whispered in her magical, metallic voice. "Now rest, son of Aidan Dragonelf. Rest your weary limbs. Your clear skin and long eyelashes and stunning, breathtaking, Michael Phelps-like body set you apart among mortals, it is true. I cannot wait until your firm, warm hand is wrapped around my jeweled hilt once again."

"MINE!" a barbarian woman roared outside Seamus' door, startling him awake. She cleared her throat and belched before raising her voice a couple octaves to trill, "Room service!"

"Uh. No, thank you! I'm fine!" Seamus called. Oh, Dreamweaver, if only you were here. I feel naked without you in my hand.

"But I've brought the ox brain and mushroom soup you ordered, sire!"

"I'm not hungry. Just charge it to my room."

"Very well," she muttered.

Seamus breathed a sigh of relief. He smoothed his cloak, and checked his hair in the small, cracked mirror hanging above the washbasin.

Whish-SHUNK!

A ragged gash, punctuated by a rusty axe blade, appeared in his door. Ancient oak splinters rained on the threadbare rug beneath Seamus' feet. Through the roughly-hewn window in the door, he could see the barbarian woman's grimy, sneering face. She flashed her two brown teeth and bloody gums, and licked her cold-sore-encrusted lips.

Seamus clutched the glowing amulet around his neck and invoked his royal elf ancestors.

Papa Moonelf, Granny Twinklebeam, Daddy Dragonelf, protect me from this vile woman!

The barbarian woman raised her axe and cackled. "Ya gonna open the door like a nice little elf?"

Seamus knew what he had to do. He unfastened his cloak and tossed it onto the bed. Calmly, he began unbuttoning his ruffly, ivory silk shirt. "Put the axe down, Madame. And please shave your armpits when you get a chance."

She dropped her axe, and kept her arms close to her sides. "What...What are you doing?" she asked, drooling uncontrollably as more and more of Seamus' smooth, radiant, rippling muscle-licious chest and torso were revealed.

"No! Don't! I'll confess...I'll confess everything," she gasped, as Seamus threatened to remove his shirt completely.

He raised one golden eyebrow and started to smile, which made the barbarian woman shriek and hide her eyes. "Truly you are the son of Aidan Dragonelf! Your smile will slay me, sire! Please! Have mercy, I beg of you!"

Seamus re-buttoned his shirt, and opened the door to comfort the groveling woman. "Shhh. There, there, now. You know, you speak very well for a barbarian," he said, patting her bare, deeply-tanned shoulder.

"That's because"-she reached for her axe-"I'm not a barbarian, you fool!" She swung the axe and buried it in the floorboard, inches from Seamus' toe.

"You almost scratched my brand-new suede boot!" he cried.

"When will you learn?" the woman laughed. She removed her false teeth, fake cold sores, and patches of matted black hair glued to her armpits, and shook the dirt and manure out of her long, wavy brown hair. Her bearskin-and-chainmail bra and miniskirt stayed put. "Well? Don't you recognize me?" she asked, rubbing the grime off her cheeks with a handkerchief.

"Toucan Nose!" Seamus exclaimed, pulling the suddenly-gorgeous woman into his room.

They stumbled over the axe in the floor, and toppled onto Seamus' unmade bed. Toucan Nose kissed his cheek, and pressed her warm lips against the pointed tip of his ear, whispering, "I infiltrated a band of Manhattan barbarians four weeks ago. They're here to kill you, Seamus. I convinced them to let me have the first go at it. They're expecting me back downstairs, with your head in my rucksack, in five minutes. We've gotta get outta here."

"First things first, Toucan Nose," Seamus said. "What happened to you? Your nose! It's so...small!" He touched her button nose and giggled.

"We don't have time for this," she said, struggling beneath him. His brown cashmere cloak felt like heaven against her bare legs, and the powerful arms cradling her were like heaven dipped in milk chocolate. But she soon put heaven out of her mind, and rammed her knee into his groin. "We'll talk later! Come on!"

Seamus howled in agony.

"Good! Keep that up. They'll think you really are being beheaded in here," Toucan Nose said, gathering his belongings and tossing them into her hollowed-out moose-head purse.

"I can't leave without paying the innkeeper," Seamus whined. "I have the Dragonelf reputation to maintain!"

"The only thing your precious Dragonelf reputation is going to get you is killed. I can't believe you used your real name in the first place. That innkeeper has a mouth the size of a bloated narwhal. No one uses their real name in these parts. If anyone asks, I'm Heather Bittercoldstone, got it?"

"But Toucan Nose-"

She groaned. "Do I look like a 'Toucan Nose' to you?"

"Well. No, I suppose not. You look great, Tou-Heather, I mean."

"Thank you. I feel great. I lost twenty pounds-mostly nose weight, but, you know...Killing rabbits with this old axe has really toned my arms. Now, let's go!"

Seamus threw on his cloak, combed his hair, and followed Heather out the window. She whistled, and two horses charged out of the stable behind the inn. Massive, fine-looking auburn steeds with ebony manes and braided tails.

"Which one's for me?" Seamus asked. The horses blew past his second-story windowsill without slowing down. He watched them race, like giddy morons, into the northern James Woods, which bordered Talking Tree territory. "They're getting away! The Talking Trees will eat them for breakfast!"

"Well, I had to bribe them somehow," Heather remarked, climbing down the side of the stone inn, avoiding open windows and spiders.

Seamus envied her smooth, skillful descent from one jutting stone edge to the next. If old Toucan Nose could do it, then surely he-an elf prince, for crying out loud-could manage just fine, despite his fear of heights and lack of rock-climbing experience.

"Hurry up, Seamus," Heather called as she dropped onto the dirt path below.

"Uh, I'd feel better if I had a rope," he said.

"No time for ropes!" she said. "Even if you fall, the worst you can do is break your neck. Then you won't feel anything when the barbarians cut off your head."

Cursing her in ancient Elfese, Seamus clung to the stones, and trusted his new suede boots to find footholds as he made his way down the side of the inn.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Heather laughed.

"I didn't know you spoke ancient Elfese," Seamus grumbled, slipping and tumbling off the wall, dropping eight feet, and landing in a hay pile.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Heather said.

"This hay pile wasn't here two seconds ago. I swear on Fozzy Meringue and all his Horsemen!" Seamus brushed himself off.

"I conjured it. No biggie." Heather shrugged her shoulders and set off for the James Woods.

"You conjured it? What, you're a sorceress now?"

"Did you think I lost my nose in a swordfight?"

"What if I did?" Seamus huffed, already out of breath. He struggled to keep pace with Heather's long strides. "It healed perfectly, and that's the important thing."

"You always were a superficial bastard. Excuse me, superficial royal elf scumbag."

"Now that's just crazy talk. Speaking of crazy, why are we heading into the James Woods? It's Talking Tree mating season, for Fozzy Meringue's sake!"

"I told you the horses were a bribe. The Trees won't bother us, provided we cross the Bridge of Melancholy Grompers before the howling moon wanes."

"When will the howling moon wane?" Seamus asked, searching for the moon in the gray sky.

Heather snorted. "Didn't they teach you anything in private elf school? Tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night!"

"We'll be fine. Assuming my friends got my message," she said, a wry smile on her pretty face.

( Continued here )